A Book About Money and Sex

Extracted from a novel by Edward Picot

I woke up lying on this bed, and there was Baz standing over me with this big glass of water. I thought he was gonner throw it over me to revive me or something.

"Fuck off!" I said, only my voice came out all sort of croaky. "Don't you throw that over me!"

"Don't you want it, then?" he said.

"Course I don't want it! Fuck off!" I said. I tried to get off the bed, but the best I could manage was to roll over a bit, and even that made me feel sick.

"Well, you fucking asked for it," he said.

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did. You said you wanted a glass of water, and then when I came back here with it you were out cold."

"Well, give us it here, then."

He gave it me, and I took a couple of sips, only I couldn't drink very much, because it felt like it was all gonner come back up any minute.

"Fucking hell," I said. "Have you got a fag?"

"Yeah," he said. "Here."

I lit one up and had a drag and a bit of a cough. "Fuck me," I said. "I feel like shit."

"You want a hair of the dog," he said.

"A what?"

"A hair of the dog. A little bit more to drink, just to stop you feeling sick all the time."

"You're joking, ain't you?"

"No," he said, "it really works. What were you drinking at the party?"

"Bacardi mostly."

"I might have some Bacardi. I'll go and have a look."

"Yeah," I said, just to get rid of him really. "You do that."

I flopped back down on the bed. The room was swimming about all over the place. Being flat seemed to make it worse, so I got up on one elbow again and tried another sip of water. Then Baz came back, only I didn't even know what he was called yet.

"Here you are," he said, and handed me another glass with a little drop of stuff in the bottom. It just looked like water again. "Try it."

"Is this it?" I said. "Is this really Bacardi?"

"Course it fucking is."

I had a sniff, and I could tell it was spirits all right. It near enough took the top of my head off.

"I can't drink it like this, you pratt. It's making me heave. Haven't you got any Coke to put in it?"

"No, I haven't. All the Coke's gone. Just drink it, and stop fucking about."

I had a sip. It really burned me, but I managed to keep it down, with the help of a gulp of water. Then I had another sip, and another gulp. In the end I got through all the Bacardi like that.

"Give us another fag," I said.

He gave me another one, and lit one himself. "Well?" he said. "D'you feel any better?"

"Yeah, I do a bit. Just a little bit. Where am I, anyway?" I said.

"My flat," he said. He never said anything about his sister, the lying cunt. I spose he wanted to look big. "I found you lying on the pavement," he said. "I put you in the car and brought you back here."

"I remember you," I said. "You were at the party."

"Yeah, I was."

"You were the one that kept staring at me."

"Fuck off. I wasn't staring."

"You fucking were. And I've seen you at school too, haven't I?"

"You might have done," he said, all casual. "I left this summer. I've just done my A-levels."

A-levels my arse. He wasn't old enough for a start, and for another thing he's about ten times too thick. He's always been a lying cunt. But I didn't know it at the time, so I just said "Oh, have you?" like a complete div.

Anyway, my mind was on other things. He was down the bottom end of the bed, and I was trying to pull down my skirt so he wouldn't be able to see up my minge. But of course all I managed was to attract his attention.

"Oy," I said, "what you staring at?"

"I'm not staring at anything," he said. "Anyway, I've seen it already, when you were lying on the pavement. The first thing I saw as I came along was this fucking great bush, then this big wet pair of lips."

"Fuck off," I said. "And I hope you haven't been mucking around with me while I've been unconscious."

"No I fucking haven't!"

"Yeah, well you'd better not've done. And just because you brought me back here, that doesn't mean you're entitled to a shag or anything."

"Well, you were keen enough at the party. You never did anything but stare at me all evening."

"Fuck off," he said. "You were imagining it. You must've been hoping I would."

"Oh yeah. Sure. Whatever you say."

"How old are you, anyway?" he said.

"Sixteen," I said. I wasn't gonner tell him my real age, was I? "Why? How old are you?"

"I told you, I've just done my A-levels."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You're the Brain of Britain. So how old does that make you?"

"Eighteen, of course."

"Oh, right. If you say so. I've never talked to anybody with A-levels before. You don't really come across as all that clever, if you don't mind me saying."

"Yeah, well, you don't come across as sixteen, come to that. I bet you're not really. I probably ought to be taking you home to Mummy. You've probably never been alone with a boy before."

"Go fuck yourself, wanker."

"I bet you've never even done it."

"Oh yeah? Well d'you wanner do it now? We might as well, now we're here."

I was quite nervous, but I wasn't gonner let him see it. In any case, if you ask me he was even more nervous. He sort of stared at me as if he was gonner chicken out. I mean, he must've had it in mind when he brought me back there, but all the same I reckon he was scared.

"Are you sure?" he said. "I mean, are you sure you won't start puking up or something? You were looking really shitty just now."

"I'm all right," I said.

"But what about, you know, what about precautions?" he said.

"Oh, fuck the precautions. You let me worry about them. Come on, will you? If we're gonner do it, let's do it."

But he just stood there.

"What's up with you?" I said. "I reckon you're the one that's the virgin, not me. I reckon you don't know how to do it."

"Fuck off," he said. "I've done it lots of times. You're just such a manky-looking, skinny little slapper, I don't know if I can be bothered. I might not even be able to manage a hard-on."

"Suit yourself," I said. "Don't do me any favours."

He went and switched the light off. "Come on then," he said. "But it's only because I feel a bit sorry for you."

I could hear him getting undressed. I wished he'd left the light on. He got on top of me, and he was all sort of thin and hard and hot. He smelt of booze and fags and armpits.

His knob started poking into me, but it wasn't in the right place. I reckon he probably really was a virgin, because at first he couldn't get it in. He just kept poking around, only then he started to get all cross and tell me off. "You're lying all wrong! Lift your fucking knees or something! You must have your hole in the wrong place!"

He got there in the end, though, and then of course he wanted to shove it right in straight away. It was bloody uncomfortable, as a matter of fact. I said "Ouch! Slow down a bit, will you?" and he said "Sorry", but he hardly slowed down at all. After a while it started to feel a bit better, but just when it was getting interesting he started making these funny grunting noises, and then he started kind of jerking about, and then he stopped.

"Is that it?" I said. "Have you come?"

"Yeah, course I have. Couldn't you feel it?"

He pulled his dick out, which felt really peculiar, like I'd got this great big wet hole in me which was never there before.

I felt really let down, but I didn't like to say so. Perhaps it was my fault, I thought. Perhaps I wasn't gonner be any good at it. But anyway, now the shagging was out the way I realised I was still feeling shitty from all the booze.

"I think I might have to be sick again," I said.

"All right," he said, jumping up and pulling on his trousers, as if he didn't want me seeing his cock. "The bathroom's outside on the left. The light's on."

I went and did some heaving into the toilet, but nothing came up. Oh well, I thought, at least I've had it off.

When I got back he said "D'you want to stay the night?"

"No thanks," I said. We'd both gone all polite all of a sudden. "I'd rather go home and sleep it off."